Page 2 of Caesar DeLuca
“It has to do with Bacardi and the cartel he works with. I would hate for him or his guys to overhear. How about we step out back?”
After considering him for a second, I say, “Make it quick.”
We step out of the restaurant building altogether, walking around toward the back where the terrace is located.
“Sergio’s still not satisfied,” Rocky says, his voice low.
I arch a brow, my eyes narrowed. “Still not satisfied in what way?”
“From what I’ve heard from the guys on the street, he still thinks his cut is too small.”
“We negotiated and he agreed on what I’ll be giving him.”
“There’s talk he’s still shopping around. He’s received better offers.”
Irritated by the vague talk, I snap, “From who?”
“From me.”
Rocky and I turn around to find we’re no longer alone. Alfredo Carisi steps onto the terrace from another one of the doors, flanked by two henchmen clearly meant for protection.
I’d laugh if I weren’t annoyed by the pathetic attempt at surprising me.
“Am I supposed to be worried, Alfredo? You’ve decided to drop by in the middle of my dinner celebration? Is it that upsetting the Crown has overtaken the Gold Rush? Even worse that there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Maybe,” Alfredo says. “Or maybe you’ve got a giant blind spot.”
“Such as?”
“The person that was dissatisfied wasn’t really Sergio,” says Rocky from my side. He shares a grin with Alfredo and his men. “It was me, Caesar.”
Before I can even react, Rocky’s doing what no one has done before—he’s making a move I don’t predict, swinging the butt of his handgun against the back of my skull, knocking me out cold.
2
CAESAR
I’m moving while lying still—or, better yet, the surface I’m lying on is in motion. I’m being transported somewhere.
Nausea churns my stomach. The rolling motion combined with the pitch-black darkness swallowing me up unsettles me. It makes me feel like I’m spinning through space with no end in sight.
It dawns on me in bits and pieces what’s happened.
I stepped outside to speak with Rocky when Alfredo Carisi and two of his men showed up. Rocky, the son of a bitch, knocked me out. Now I’m stored in the trunk of some car as I’m taken who knows where.
I grit my teeth, aware of where this is headed—in our lifestyle, nothing good can come of being taken by your rival family and put in the back of a car. It’s just one of the common ways our hit jobs are carried out.
My eyes clench shut, commencing another layer of darkness.
Damn it.
How could I be so fucking stupid? I’m never the type to make such amateur mistakes. I hadn’t thought twice about Rocky requesting we step outside for a word. Throughout our years in this lifestyle, we’ve done so many times.
Rocky is one of the most reliable members of my inner circle. For him to backstab me in such a way feels like more than just a betrayal. It digs deeper, packs a greater punch. How have I overlooked such a blind spot?
The journey feels long and monotonous, like there’s no end in sight. I’m forced to lay here, locked in some trunk as my biggest rival brings me to my death.
When the car finally slows, I’m aware of what’s coming next. The engine turns off and the doors spring open. Their feet crunch through the thick snow as they come around to the back of the car. The trunk pops up and I’m afforded an unobstructed view of the inky sky and sparkling white snowflakes falling.
